Conflict of Motives
by Rakie Starkfragger
Summary: Ravyn StarkweatherWookieFragger collab. The Max Payne and Twisted Metal worlds collide!
1. Max 1

Author comments: This story is a collaboration between the authors WookieFragger and Ravyn Starkweather. It is also a crossover between Max Payne and Twisted Metal: Black. This first chapter is by WookieFragger, and the second chapter will be by Ravyn Starkweather. The two writers will be going back and forth, taking turns submitting chapters one after the other. Let the darkness begin...

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WookieFragger 

Max,Ch1

You climb to the top of Mount Everest and look down, and the view is so foggy you can't see where you came from, and you're cold as hell, nothing to look forward to but a long, painful climb back down. That's kind of how I felt as I stood there on top of the Aesir building staring down into the streets at the smoking remains of a chopper. The dead occupant was a woman who earned all the hatred I had in my heart when she sold the lives of my wife and daughter for drug money. I leaned over the edge of the roof and spat at the wreckage. A few red drops shrank out of sight and hit the metal with a clink. It was bitterly cold. I was holding the side of a sniper rifle up against my stomach. It was still a little warm.

Spotlights were all focused on me. Police copters making damn sure I didn't move, news copters making damn sure they get a good view if I do. I felt like a movie star, some kind of action anti-hero. An automatic door hissed as it opened behind me, and then there were the sounds of dozens of footsteps crackling on the glass shards that were part of the door only a few short minutes ago. One of the men shouted at me to drop my weapon. I did. After that, I just let it all happen. The SWATs cuffed me and led me at gunpoint back down the maze I had fought with all my heart and the small shred of soul I still had to climb up. Corpses were everywhere. The guy behind me was breathing hard. They'd probably seen crack house busts go bloody, but this was a new level for them. We walked out of a stairwell and onto the floor where Mona was shot in the elevator. One man was slumped over a bench, two were on the floor, and from up there you could see even more on the ground floor in the foyer, which was once beautiful marble. Now it was a mess of cracks craters. Bodies were hung over on railings on other floors above, and one had fallen a couple stories into the foyer, twisted horribly on top of a crushed wooden bench. The guy who had been behind me hunched over and threw up. He looked up to one of his buddies and moaned, "Ah shit". His buddy patted him on the shoulder. "Yeah, I know." He gave me a quick, nervous glance. I had killed a couple hundred people in the last couple of weeks, and by the next morning I'd be a free man.

The old man bought me beer, and while I'd never been much for it, it seemed somehow appropriate. You take down an army all by yourself, you deserve a beer at least. I had had more than a couple, and I got a little envious of the old man because he would never see double. He wasn't in the super fancy suit anymore, but a button down white shirt and khaki pants. The official shit was over, and even the highly empowered enjoy going out and just being regular people. The only thing that made him really stand out from the other night-sceners was the eye patch. I had gotten over the novelty of working for a Cyclops yesterday, but once I had gotten a little buzzed, I couldn't help but stare. He chuckled good-naturedly, and decided to tell me the story behind it. "Nicole had been after me for years, and she thought she had me one time." His grin slowly faded into a dead, stony frown. "She bombed an airplane flying out of Dulles. Went off about halfway across the Atlantic, and I alone survived. A piece of plastic found its way back behind the socket, and my eye went numb. The doctors probably could have saved it, but I was floating on a life raft for about a week and a half, and I was starving." I looked down at my glass, and was suddenly very grateful I saw two reflections.

There were two other things that I saw. One was that old man Alfred Woden was hiding something; the other was that I had it on tape. The silence was beginning to get a little awkward, so he took a big chug of his beer. I was sober enough to figure that something was on that tape that would be important to more people than just his wife. I seriously doubted that a sex tape was what Nicole Horne had him by the small hairs with. I also wondered if he knew I had it. His face grew grave, his eyebrow pressing down over his patch and said, "Max, we're going to move you somewhere else. Anywhere in the country you'd like. I'd strongly advise against you staying in New York. You slaughtered the Punchinello's, which means their relatives are furious. If you stay, you're putting yourself in all kinds of danger. I don't want you to get hurt." I nodded. He bought me more beer; we joked around, and had a lot of fun. There was a macabre aftertaste from the day before lingering in the back of my mind, and I'm sure the beer wasn't the smartest thing for a man who had as many holes in him as I did, but I needed to have a good time, and I did, and holy damn did I get plastered.

The orange and white U-haul truck sagged on its wheels as more and more boxes were stacked in, and I could feel the shocks creaking a little bit every time one of Woden's men rolled a full hand truck up the ramp as I sat there on top of the square frame, picking up my feet every time they had to get in or out. They didn't seem to mind too much. The way I see it, if I were helping a mass murderer pack up, and he wanted to sit on top of the truck, I'd have no problem with that. It's like the old joke. Where does a 500 pound gorilla sit?

The sun was finally showing itself, and I was grateful for the meager warmth it provided, cutting through the thin fog like a stick in a cobweb. It woke up some hot spots on my shoulder blade that were left over from Angelo Punchinello's restaurant. They were now dark red and were peeling like crazy. I thought about what Woden had told me yesterday, about his eye. He might be missing an eye, but I'd wager that there aren't too many things that could escape his watch. I was pretty sure that he'd be keeping his eye on me from now on. Still, I was at least convinced that he wasn't one of the bad guys, though I wouldn't exactly say he was one of the good guys either. Whatever. The movers were ready. Max relaxed into his car, turned the ignition, and drove. The U-Haul followed.


	2. Mary 1

(A/N)—This chapter is written in the point of view of Twisted Metal: Black's character, The Bride.

I glanced at my watch as it began to beep. The shrill, annoying sound seemed to drill itself into my brain, giving me just a taste of that old feeling that used to live in my brain all the time.

Shortly after the competition, when it was made apparent that the man of my dreams wasn't…exactly what I wanted him to be, I realized that I needed help. I moved into a small apartment, started going to a shrink, and got put back on my meds.

I had to take them every hour on the hour and they were strong…The strongest anyone could legally prescribe me.

My fingers drummed on the table next to the bottle of medication and I closed my eyes, thinking of old times.

I licked my lips as I thought of all the carnage laced memories that were flooding through my mind these days. They especially came out as I slumbered, decorating my dreams with bloodstains and bloodcurdling screams.

Those were the loveliest dreams I had ever had, and yet, I knew if I kept taking the dreaded medication, they would be silenced for good.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I pondered deeply whether or not it was even worth going back on my medication. The memories of the past were becoming just that, memories. An intangible nothingness that seemed close enough to sense, but too far away to touch.

I wrapped my fingers around the bottle, delicately removing the cap and peering at its small, blue inhabitants.

As I licked my lips, I could almost taste the spray of bitter blood that always made its way to my face.

I thought of that gorgeous wedding dress made even more gorgeous by the crimson that imbrued its lace.

I remembered how the dress clung to me and showed off my lovely curves. The dress made me look so beautiful…No, _I_ made _the dress _look beautiful.

The garment I once wore with reckless abandon now stayed hung up in my closet, hidden from everyone's eyes but my own.

These days, it seemed the nostalgia got the better of me every time the watch alerted me of "Pill Time".

Just as always, my obligation to my mental health overcame my yearning for the past. I dumped two pills into my hand, planted them in my mouth, and washed them down with a gulp of water.

As I put the cap back on the pill bottle, I felt a cold tear slide down my cheek.


	3. Max 2

Max,Ch 2

I'd stayed in worse motels. Everything worked just fine. There was cable, at least. I flipped around. There were a few crappy TV movies, some softcore porn, and a whole bunch of other assorted garbage. I decided to watch some news to kill the time. It was at least better than the alternatives. A few bits of local news played. The anchor was a little bit too enthusiastic about the Midtown Chipmunks' 'sweeping victory in the regional baseball championship'. They're just grade-schoolers, they don't know any excitement except what's brought on by an excess of Kool-aid. Now for national news. Updates on that rascal Max Payne's killing spree. "The body count has not risen for two whole days, and police believe that suspect is dead. Even so, the handling of the situation has been given entirely to federal discretion. New York City public health officials have cautioned residents in the areas near the rampages not to touch bodies that have not been discovered by police, and to report them immediately, to avoid being infected by the decomposing corpses. More details on that la-" I didn't really care to hear the rest. I had been trying to get away from all that, and the last thing I need to find out is that I killed more people than the city can find and deal with. Not something I wanted to know.

I stuffed my feet into my shoes and went to the fridge. The truck drivers had brought a couple six packs of beer with them, and they weren't going to miss a bottle. We'd been on the road for a good for a good five or six days, and I ended up getting along fine with the two of them. They were out at the moment. They hadn't made any plans on what to do, or where to go, but I had a pretty good idea where they were going to end up. We passed a strip club about five miles outside Midtown, and these guys were bored truck drivers, after all. I'd last heard from Woden about two days ago. He called the room at the last motel, and he seemed perfectly content that I just wander around the country until I had found a nice burg to settle down in. Patient man. Still, I wondered how patient he would be if he knew that I had that tape. I had brought my VCR in from the truck and connected it to the grainy old TV. I popped the cap off my bottle and put in the tape.

I wasn't able to drink a drop of that beer. Apparently, it really was just a sex tape. One-eyed Alfred getting it on with Candy Dawn. Some jerk-off who stayed here before must've turned the volume all the way up, because the late Ms Dawn must've been screaming in pleasure loud enough to give the farmer across the street a boner. I clicked the mute button and began to fast forward. It was astonishing. Positions that I didn't even know existed, and positions that I wouldn't have guessed a man his age could pull off. I just could not help but keep watching. I've never liked porn, and I especially disliked this. But something just wasn't right. Alfred Woden had used me to destroy Aesir, Valkyr, and most importantly, Nicole. And yet here he was, in a sleazy hotel, fucking a V-head junkie one third his age. It just didn't fit at all. I un-muted the TV and turned the volume down low. They breathed heavily, gasping in unison as he pumped his hips. "Oh Alfie…" she moaned. "Alfie, Alfie, Alfie!" Alfred pressed his head into her chest, and began to yell, "Nicole! God you're amazing, Nicole!"

I leapt up and grabbed the television. Warm tears burned down my face like acid as I pulled it off the stand and dropped it to the floor. I grabbed the lamp off the nightstand and broke it over the TV. A brief rain of sparks bounced down onto the floor and winked out. I had been used. Nicole Horne was responsible for what happened to my family, and she had died for it. But she had died for it back in the bar at Jack Lupino's hotel. The woman in the copter was just a decoy, yet another of the many people that Nicole and her accomplice had used as tools for their own personal gain. But her accomplice, Woden, was still alive. After I killed Horne in the bar with Rico Muerte, he must've altered his scheme, use me to cover all the tracks leading to him, and stick Horne with all the blame.

There was a knock at the door. I turned the TV over. It was still on, the cord pulled tight where it ran to the wall. He and his late partner in crime laughed and yelled in the throes of their orgasm. The door flung open. I grabbed the bottle, and brought it crashing down on the screen. The screen cracked, flickered green, and crackled out. I fell to my knees. My pain renewed itself. Dark scars on my soul reopened and bled anew. Finally, I gave up all hope. Alfred was going to find out, and there was nothing I could do. He and his two drivers were the only people in the world who knew who I was, and where I was. I was in the palm of his hand the whole time, and all I had fought for was a lie. And his drivers were now standing right in front of me, reaching into their pockets.

"What the hell were you just watching?", one of them asked. I didn't even try to compose myself. I figured I could pass myself off as very drunk, and there was a movie that pissed me off, or something. Unfortunately, I didn't have the luxury of time. "What were you just watching, Max?", he asked again. I began to talk incoherently, slurring about all these damn romantic comedies they make these days. They weren't buying it. The other driver took his hand out of his pocket. There was a miniature revolver in his hand. I still had a broken bottle in mine.

He stepped slowly and carefully over the broken television to the VCR and pressed his thumb to the eject button. I didn't wait. I rushed him and stabbed the broken glass into his neck. He retracted his hands and held them to his neck, dropping his gun. The other one was still surprised. I snatched the gun off the floor, and shot him in the chest. He jumped with the shock, and stood there for a moment, as he looked down at his shirt, which was dampening with an expanding blot of blood. Finally he snapped out of it and jerked a gun out of his shirt toward me. Only a split second to react, I squinted as I pulled the trigger. A black dot popped open in his forehead, and he fell against the wall and slid to the floor. I grabbed the truck key off his belt and dashed out of the motel, past screaming housekeepers and fleeing tenants. Throwing open the door, I climbed into the driver side and turned the ignition. I pulled out of the parking lot as fast as I could in the loaded truck, and raced down the dark highway toward Midtown. The rush of adrenaline was an unwelcome feeling, a physical reminder of all the fighting I did to kill a woman who was already dead. On that lonely road, my heart felt as black as the night outside, and the screams of my wife and daughter echoed in my ears as they had so many times before.


	4. Mary 2

(Mary's POV)

The alarm buzzed steadily, but I silenced it with one good hit. I smiled to myself smugly, then slowly climbed out of bed. After walking wearily into the bathroom, I examined myself in the spotless mirror.

How can someone look so perfect just ten seconds after waking up?

The mystery of it all baffled me, but I shrugged it off and brushed my teeth. After finishing my morning routine, I went in the kitchen to get my oh-so important coffee.

As I poured myself a cup, the silence of the apartment started to get to me. As I sipped the hot beverage, I grabbed my remote control and switched on the television.

The news was on…Nothing interesting, but it was nice to have someone else's voice reverberate off of the walls besides my own. I sat on the couch and watched the all-too perky newswoman report on things that I couldn't be less interested in.

Suddenly, the camera focused on the anchorman. He clutched crisp papers in his hand and wore an obviously practiced expression of sincerity on his face.

As he spoke, I became more and more riveted by every word. A man named Max Payne…All the unspeakable acts he had committed. My heart was even aflutter before they showed his picture.

In a small square to the right of the anchorman's head held the picture of the legend known as Max Payne. I gasped aloud as my laid my eyes upon those dark eyes…that look of determination.

He was lovely…and knowing what he had done made him all the more lovely. It was as if I was looking into a gender confused mirror. Max Payne was my reflection bathed in unbridled spontaneity. This was a man that had no restraint when I was constantly tied down in restraint.

On the coffee table, my watch beeped.

"Pill Time"

I looked from the watch to the bottle of pills on the dining table. I looked from the pills to the smug expression on my soul mate's face. I had to meet this man. I had to see what it felt like to have no obligations towards self-control.

No…I already knew what that felt like…I already felt that…Before the damn pills, before the meetings with the shrink…

Before I hung up that beautiful dress…

I continued to stare at the beautiful man and my watch continued to beep, becoming the background noise of my fantasy.

Suddenly, the face of my beloved was ripped from me as the anchorman informed me he would be right back after this short commercial break.

I didn't want to see him after the commercial break!

I wanted to see him _now, dammit!_

The watch continued to beep and without the fantasy running through my mind, I realized how truly annoying the sound was.

"Shut the Hell up!" I screamed as I threw the watch against the wall.

It must have broken, for I couldn't hear the beeping anymore.

I looked over at the pills on the table.

Damn the pills.

Damn the shrink.

Damn these restraints that society had put on me.

I walked slowly to my closet and opened up the right side, where only one garment was special enough to occupy.

The rusty scent of blood greeted me, bringing a smile to my face. I didn't even take it off the hanger, I just let my fingers linger over the delicate lace. I closed my eyes and memories came flooding back to me.

I heard the news come back on in the living room, so I ran back to the television, hoping to catch another glimpse of Max Payne's face.

That's when I heard that he was dead…

That's when my heart sank lower than it ever had before…

Perhaps there was a reason I was on this medication. What if I ended up just like Max? Was it work being carefree? Was it worth paying the life I have now just to taste the life I used to?

I walked over to the table and opened the bottle of pills. I swallowed two of them with a mouthful of coffee. I sat on the couch and looked at the television, but the face of the lost haunted me.

I switched off the television and sat in silence.

Eventually, the blinding rage subsided and I went back to my room and closed that closet door with the garment that always seemed to beckon to me.

I lay back in bed…Maybe I could just stay here for a while.

Maybe there was a reason I was on this medication.

Maybe they weren't _restraints_, as I had thought them to be…

Maybe they were the only things keeping me alive…

Little blue life preservers…

I drifted off, almost happy for the first time about being on my medication.

As I slept, I dreamt of meeting Max Payne.


	5. Max 3

Max,Ch 3

There was something dark that had entered me. An evil and a sickness, like a poison that knotted up my stomach until I wanted to puke. I wasn't even going to pretend that I had any composure left. I doubled over, and let the racking croaks rattle my body. My neck and mouth burned, like the souls of those I had killed were now sliding up my throat and out of me. I thought the death and pain would've ended with Aesir. Instead, I was standing at the bottom of a hill just as large as that one, and the carnage had already begun again.

A highway patrol pulled me over and started to question me. He told me about what happened at the motel, and wanted to see if I knew anything. The whole time, he kept staring at me, like he had seen me from somewhere. Truth is, he had, but I sure as hell wasn't gonna verify. Then again, I wouldn't have needed to. After a while, he recognized me, and went for his tazer. I was a faster draw.

I left the truck and the police car and wandered off into the woods at the side of the road. I didn't know how much help that would be, but if I couldn't run, I might be able to hide pretty well. But I didn't even want to do that. I was tired of fighting. I was tired of getting up after every fight, and having the crushing weight of hundreds of people press down on my chest every time I drifted off into a fitful sleep. In your dreams, nobody you kill is evil. Instead, they are just standing opposite you, searching for the thing that drives them. You know that if they had killed you, they just might have those dreams too. Their voices whisper neither malice nor anger, but only sadness, deep and cold and eternal. If hell is full of sadness, then I had already died. Every path in front of me just lead to more sadness. There was no victory for me. No vigor was left in my broken heart to keep going. I couldn't keep killing. Not for my family. Not for me. I had lost my family, I couldn't bring them back, and now I was dead as well.

I fished the revolver out of my pocket. The sound of metal, brushing gently against leather, so familiar to me, had always been a like a hush at a funeral, quiet and ominously mournful in its silence. My eyes took the cue, and welled up with tears that bubbled up to the surface from far within, making my face ache. I held the gun on the flat, open palm of my hand, fixating on the cold, smooth shape of it, the soft curves and the hard lines. The devils that manifested themselves in my rage had already soiled the memory of my bride. I pressed the gun to my lips. So much like her. The cold metal in my hands appeared to melt away. The taste of steel was so much like our last kiss. The blood and the tears mixing together as we both knew it was her last moment. The gun disappeared, and what remained was the image of my love. I held her in my arms and rested my head on hers for what felt like eternity, and yet it wasn't long enough. She looked up at me, and finally, put her lips to mine, and I tasted once again the blood and tears. It was real. She was here with me, and I would never let go. I would stay for eternity and cradle the flesh of the fallen angel.

She spoke to me, with words of love and of life. The tears were still there, and the blood remained, but there was no ache. The longing I felt in my heart that had felt like an emptiness, had renewed itself into a promise. And in an instant she faded away just as she had come. It had begun to rain, and I knelt there on the ground. "Michelle…" I said quietly. There was no answer to be heard. But I knew she was listening. The gun fell from my hand and landed softly in the wet grass. The sky was dark, but no longer was I. I had a destiny again. I raised my face, and let the rain fall as it may upon me. Footsteps splashed on the muddy ground behind me. "Michelle…" I said once again, "I love you."


	6. Mary 3

(Mary's POV)

The next morning started off badly…

I walked somberly into the bathroom, still mourning the death of a man I had never before met. As I showered, my mind wavered towards him, no matter how hard I tried to avoid it. Standing there, naked, in the hot spray of the showerhead, I began to fantasize of this mystery man.

My mind conjured up the image of Max Payne, just as I saw him next to the anchorman the previous morning, looking so reckless…never answering to anyone…A part of me still longed to be that.

Finishing my shower, I realized how attracted I still was to the dead man. If only there was some way I could bring him back…He was just what I wanted, just what I needed…

I sighed in frustration and draped my towel around me, not even bothering to get dressed. My wet hair sent freezing drops of water down my spine, but I didn't even care. I walked to the living room and switched on the television…Hopefully they would repeat the story of my beloved.

The newswoman, looking as though she had been injected with a mocha latte enema, continued to prattle on about things that couldn't interest me less.

Finally, after much anticipation, the anchorman reappeared on the screen, reporting the very best thing that I could have possibly heard.

_Fugitive, Max Payne was found and arrested late last night. Believed to be dead, it was a surprise to authorities to find him. He is currently in jail at MidTown, now onto other news…_

I didn't care about the other news. The only thing I wanted was now here…I didn't have a watch to beep and alert me of my medication times anymore. I was free to go about as I pleased.

I hurried to my bedroom and got dressed several times, trying to find the perfect outfit to accentuate my lovely curves. Finally, I decided upon one…I had to look my best.

It's not every day you meet the man of your dreams, is it?

MidTown wasn't far from the town I was living in and I knew I could make the drive in about an hour and seeing the beautiful man in person would be more than worth the short drive.

The drive gave me time to think over exactly what I was going to say to him, but I still had no clue. My best bet would probably be just to say what came to me. That would be actually very easy to do because I was always much more talkative when I didn't take my medication.

When I finally reached the jail, I checked my flawless reflection in the rearview mirror. Happy with it, as usual, I waltzed into the jail and smiled happily at the guard standing in the corner of the room.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" He asked lightly. I could tell he was absolutely taken with my beauty.

"Yes," I said, putting on my nicest voice, "Actually, I was wondering if it was possible if I could speak to Max Payne?" I asked.

I knew it was possible.

With me, anything was possible.

He nodded with a grin before disappearing into the back room. He poked his head back through the door and motioned me to sit at one of the booths at the far end of the large room.

When I sat down, I realized what was about to happen.

I was surrounded on three sides in some sort of a cubicle. There was a thick pane of glass in front of me and walls on either side. On one of these walls was a corded black phone.

A series of holes were poked in the pane of glass.

I looked at the phone.

I was about to hear his voice.

The same guard that was so sweet to me wore a nasty scowl on his face when he brought Max out to the booth.

Max looked shocked, as if he wasn't expecting me. How could he have been, though? I shouldn't have been surprised, but deep down I felt a little hurt, as though I thought he had been expecting me.

He sat down apprehensively, scanning my face with those beautiful eyes and if my identity would be written right on it.

He picked up the phone on his end and motioned for me to do the same.

I did so with a smile.

"Who are you?" He asked.

I closed my eyes.

His voice was exactly how I had imagined it. So deep and gruff…Such a manly voice. I had to still my heart right at that moment from popping right out of my chest. This was the man of my dreams…

If only this damn glass wasn't in the way…

I opened my eyes, snapping back to reality as I felt his eyes still searching me.

"My name is Mary…" I said in my most seductive voice. I leaned, putting my elbows on the table in front of me, careful to show the cleavage popping out of my blouse.

I saw him look down at my breasts, then back up at my emerald green eyes.

I was captivating him…I could tell…

"Mary, huh?" He asked in that lovely voice.

I nodded, smiling.

"What do you want?"

He was a little more blunt than I thought he would be, but being confronted by a beautiful woman does that to a man.

"I wanted to talk to you…" I said sweetly.

"Why?"

My shell cracked a bit…Why _did_ I come to see him?

I searched carefully for my words.

"I just…I wanted to meet you."

"Why?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because, I…I admire you."

A look of bewilderment crossed his face and he squinted his eyes slightly.

"I don't know who you think I am…" He said, "But I've never met you before…"

"I know, but…" I stopped abruptly, trying to choose my words carefully.

He still looked at me with those baffled eyes.

"I know exactly where you're coming from…" I said, my voice barely above a whisper, leaning in closer to the glass.

He just looked at me as I confessed my story of tragic love. Finally, his eyes looked at the phone cradle on the side of his cubicle.

I could tell he was pondering whether or not to hang up.

"Don't hang up!" The words burst from me before I could drown them in seduction.

He did the opposite of what I asked and I stood, yelling loud enough to where he could hear me through the glass.

"I'll wait for you, Max!"

He looked shocked and went back in the room that the guard had taken him out of.

I sighed and hung up the phone. The men were all staring at me, but that wasn't anything new to me.

As I walked towards the exit, a man walked right past me. Something seemed _so_ familiar about him.

I stopped in my tracks.

His head was down, but I could see an eye patch…


	7. Max 4

Ch 4

Life has a weird way of surprising you, and just when you think you've got it all figured out, things change completely, becoming dark and confused all over again. Here I was in police custody again, waiting for people to just settle down and leave me alone. I knew they wouldn't. You can't just walk away from the things I had done. I had crossed that invisible threshold, that point at which you can't turn back, yesterday when I had killed the cop. Hell, I crossed it when I broke the TV. Now, every journalist and TV reporter in the State was trying to get a few comments from me, and from the police chief. I was already in for it as it was. I had killed a police officer. Automatic capital punishment. Still, I had gotten out of worse jams. The problem was that those jams weren't with the police, weren't with people who had been on my side of the fence.

Still, they had told me that there was a woman here to see me. She wasn't a journalist, and the guard hadn't even bothered to ask her name. I almost said no, but the memory of a disappearing Mona lingered in my mind. It wouldn't be the first time she'd surprised me. I agreed to see the woman, and the guard joylessly unlocked my cell and led me down the chilly tile corridors. I decided to hazard a word or two. "How long've you been on the force?" I said, just trying to make small talk. Very, very small talk. "Six years." he replied curtly. A moment or two passed. Except for the echoing taps of his shoes, utter silence filled our ears. He broke the silence. "You know," he said, "Mitchell's been here for twenty years. He was getting ready to retire." It stung my ears to hear. Of course, I wouldn't have expected him to be all chummy, so I had no real right to complain. The worst part about guilt is knowing that no matter how bad someone else makes you feel, it's still your own damn fault. I wanted to say something, but I had nothing to say. The man died doing his job, and I was the criminal. I just followed in silence.

He took me to a room with some wooden stools and a thick glass wall. On the other side of the wall, sitting in a small booth with a phone and wooden panels at the sides, was a woman. Not Mona. Still, this woman looked familiar. Whoever she was, she had dolled herself up to look her best. And her most seductive.

I sat down nervously on the stool. There was a phone on my side of the glass. The whole thing was too strange. I wanted to get this the hell over with. I picked up the phone and put it to my ear. The woman just looked at me for a moment. I motioned with my hands toward her phone. She picked it up and put it to her ear. I decided to get straight to the point. "Who are you?" I asked. As the words left my mouth, she closed her eyes and breathed in and out with a heavy sigh, her chest rising and falling, shivering with a smile on her face. Her eyes snapped back open with a start, and fixed themselves on mine. There was something about her eyes. Emerald green, intense, beautiful, and intimidating. "My name is Mary" she said, low, breathy and sly. She propped her elbows on the table in front of her and leaned forward eagerly, the v-neck of her blouse drifting low. At that moment, I was treated to the sight of two of the most amazing boobs I had ever seen.

Without a moment's hesitation, I ripped my eyes from her chest and back into her laser-beam eyes. Her smile widened subtly. She had planned that. This was more than bizarre. "Mary, huh?" I said. I asked her what she wanted from me. Why she had came here. Why she wanted to talk to me. The answer she gave me was disturbing. She said she admired me. I was no hero. I don't need or want admiration from anyone. I tried to gently dismiss her, worm my way out of the conversation, but she wouldn't let me. She told me she knew where I was coming from. Her smile faded away, her expression grew serious, as she leaned in closer to the glass. "I don't want you to tell this to anyone" she said, her voice just above a whisper. I leaned toward her, trying to take full advantage of whatever privacy the small booth and bulletproof glass would afford us.

She began her story, telling how she had killed her best friend Kristen at her wedding. Now I was sure of where I had seen her face: On the news. She went on. No man had ever loved her. According to her, it wasn't her fault. It was a problem with men. It was the men's fault that she was alone. My stomach began to tense up. She was moving towards a revelation that I didn't think I wanted to know. After her best friend's murder, she had been put away in Blackfield asylum, about three or four miles outside town. I recalled passing it on the way here. At once, I knew who she was. I was talking to the infamous Bloody Mary, the escaped mental patient. There was a widely known death competition that happened every year, hosted by a shadowy man who calls himself Calypso. A dozen or so combatants in heavily modified vehicles, armed to the teeth. The sole survivor would win the prize. The competition lasted until every single other contestant was killed, and it was on the news for a couple days every year. A few years ago, the competition bled into the city, and more than sixty innocent city residents had been killed in the crossfire. My arm was tensing, like a bat before the swing, getting ready to hang up the phone. The news crews had gotten some footage of the ordeal, and had identified some of the killers. She was one of them. There was a streak of killings in Midtown that made national headlines. It was believed that she had survived, had won the contest, and had become a serial killer. Here she was now, on the other side of the glass.

The fear crept up my skin inch by inch, making my hair stand on end. She started telling me how alike we both are, unfettered, free, and powerful, paving the roads to our dreams with bodies. How at the end of the road, there was nothing for us. She fought for a man, the love of her childhood. Calypso delivered her prize, complete with alterations to the brain to make her man subservient, but he still did not love her. She told me that she killed him, and then, killed any man that refused her. But eventually she stopped. She settled down, mended her ways. And then she saw me.

If her story was over, I was getting the hell back to my cell. "Don't hang up!" I heard her yell as I slammed the phone onto the hook. I walked nervously over to the phone and heard her yell, muffled by the bulletproof glass. "I'll wait for you, Max!" she cried. It was too damn much. The guard walked me back to the cell. He had a few jabs to make about her and me, but I ignored them.

For a moment, I wanted to tell him who that woman was, but the urge was strangled by a subtler, more implacable impulse. I told the guard not to bother me with any more visitors. "Yes, master" he sneered back. I sat down in my cell and prepared to face the idea of death. I sat there for a half an hour and hadn't made much progress before my good friend the cyclops decided to show up for a talk.


	8. Mary 4

Mary, 4

"Do I know you from somewhere?" I asked, thrusting my cleavage up, attempting to make my best first impression.

He raised his head.

I gasped loudly when I got a look at his face.

"Calypso…" I said breathlessly.

"I've wanted to talk to you for a long time…" He said in that heavy, breathy voice of his.

"And _I've_ wanted to talk to you!" I said loudly, "You didn't hold up to your part of the deal!"

Calypso grabbed me by my arm as the police began to turn and look in our direction. He pulled me out of the small building and the thin door closed behind us.

"What's this you're saying?" He asked, although it seemed as though he was feigning his surprise.

"Your part of the deal, Calypso…" I said, looking up, silently wondering why he was wearing the eye patch, "You lied to me."

He looked hurt.

"You know _damn well_ what I'm talking about!" I said, beginning to lose control. I was starting to regret not taking my medication. I would have been much more manageable with two of those small blue pills.

"I'm afraid I don't, Mary." He said.

I hated how convincing he sounded.

I hated how I wanted to believe him.

I hated how desperate I was…and it was all because of _him._

"Calypso…" I said, blinking slowly, then looking directly into his good eye, "You didn't hold up to your end of the bargain. I won the competition, Calypso…_I won_. Doesn't that mean that I get what I was playing for?"

"And you were playing for the love of your life."

"Yes…"

"And I gave him to you…with the necessary modifications, of course."

"No, he wasn't given these _necessary_ modifications…He didn't love me, Calypso. Maybe you should've checked before you promised him to me."

"How could he not love you?" He asked, raising a hand to touch my face.

I just closed my eyes, enjoying the human contact. Somewhere deep down, I wanted to rip off that hand and shove it up his ass. I wanted to claw out his good eye and chew it up and spit it on the ground. I wanted to strangle him until his face turned blue. I wanted to watch him choke on his own tongue.

But, in spite of it all, part of me still wanted to feel him inside of me. I wanted his hot whispers in my ear. I wanted his light kisses. I wanted _him_.

I stood there, indulging myself in his surprisingly light touch, trying to ignore all of the conflicting feelings coming up inside of me.

Despite my beauty, I was a simple thing. I was only a lonely woman. A lonely woman desperately craving male attention as if it was the only thing that could keep me alive.

And this disfigured, bald, one-eyed man in front of me was giving me that attention. That's all I wanted.

Then a strange feeling rose up to meet with all the other ones.

Guilt.

How could I do this to Max? He was waiting in that jail cell, just biding his time until he could see me again and here I was, right outside the jail with another man. I'm not that kind of girl.

"I can't do this to him…" I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

A small grin crossed his lips.

I wanted to kiss those lips. Then I wanted to bite them off and chew them up. I wanted to destroy that face.

"Can't do what to whom?" Calypso asked with an eerie glint in his eye.

I'm sure it was lust.

"Max…"

"Max?"

"Max Payne."

"Isn't that a coincidence?" He said through a grin.

He leaned in closely, mere centimeters away from my ear.

"I'll see you soon, Mary." He planted a small kiss on my cheek, turned around and walked inside the jail.

I stood, watching him leave, overcome with intense confusion.


	9. Max 5

Ch 5

The guard told me I had another visitor. I told him I wasn't going to go out there again. He clearly didn't take the hint, and so there on the other side of the bars stood the man I hated most in the world. Alfred Woden, the one-eyed monster himself. I yelled for the guard as he left the two of us alone. He looked back over his shoulder and glanced nervously at me, and then at Woden, and continued back on his way, his boots echoing down the hall. When the echoes ceased, Woden gripped the bars and put his face up to the iron and smiled widely. I lunged at the bars and tried to punch him in the face before he moved. He jumped back faster than I thought a man his age could. He smirked and shook his head.

"Max Payne, I must say, I admire your fighting spirit" he said, looking at me sideways. There was something not right about the way he looked. He was too lively, too much pep in his step, too loose and relaxed. He seemed, and looked, somehow, younger. It just made me hate him more.

"Glad you like it. Come on in, you'll see even more of it." I said, my fists tightly clenched around the cold iron bars. He raised an eyebrow and smiled. The skin on his face was tight and smooth, as though it might squeak as he changed expressions. He opened his mouth, about to say something clever. I felt like being an asshole, and interrupted. "So Alfred, got a facelift, I see. Although I think a faceless look would suit you better." "I knew a man like that once" he said. A minute passed. I said nothing while he regarded me silently with a strange smile. Momentarily unnerved, I quickly determined not to play along with any of his mouse-caught-in-a-trap bullshit. I wanted to know why he hadn't just killed me and gotten it over with. His apes at the motel were more than willing, why wasn't he? I was sick and tired of him. I was used, in the most horrific way imaginable. I felt like a mislead Nazi, duped into becoming a mass murderer. No, I felt worse. Even as I was doing it, I didn't think it was the right thing. I only did what I wanted most. There are only two places fit for a man like me to go. Jail, and hell.

"There is a reason I left you alive" he said. He sat down cross-legged on the cold floor. I turned and faced away. I hung my head down low. He was determined to feed his ego. He wanted me to feel, somehow, indebted to him. "Fuck you, Woden. I don't owe you anything" I said. Something soft bounced off the back off my head. He giggled like a child. I whirled around, infuriated. His hand was covering his eye, and his giggles swelled into a full laugh. His eye patch lay limp on the floor. "The look on your face!" he laughed, "Oh man, if only you could see it!" He was like an annoying little boy, and my anger swelled into a full-blown state of pissed-off. I refused to dignify him with a response. I glared into his uncovered eye, half-closed with laughter. After a minute or so he settled down, and sighed, smiling. "Oh, Payne, just can't take a joke, can you?"

"You didn't come all the way down here to screw around. An important man like yourself-" I cut myself off. With his free hand he was vigorously picking his nose. He pulled out a big green one and flicked it into my cell. There I was, standing infuriated, perplexed, and dumbfounded. I had just been corrected by a booger.

"You were saying?" he said, grinning widely. How could this possibly get any weirder? The man who embodied all of my earthly hate, who was responsible in part for the death of my wife and baby girl, had flung a booger at me. He was looking around with a bored frown. I still didn't know what to do or say. A booger. I couldn't believe it. I finally thought of something to say. "You just flicked a booger at me." He shrugged. "Yeah." he said, dismissively. A grin started so spread back across his face, like a little boy who just got the spirit of mischief in him. He looked up at me with a glint in his eye.

"So, you still miss your family, right?" as soon as he said that, he whipped his hand away from the bad eye, and for an instant, an image of my wife and child filled my entire vision. I was knocked back off my feet, the force of it pushing the breath out of me, and I landed hard against the wall. He covered his eye again, and the image was immediately gone. I began to hyperventilate. My lungs felt like they were about to rip out of my chest. He slid his hand down below his eye, and I could see his eye was jet black. He waved it up over it, and my wife was there, inside his eye, knocking on it as if it were a window, trying to yell something to me. His hand went back down. Black. Back up. Michelle and the baby. Back down.

"Tell me how you did that" I demanded. "Magic" he replied. He was toying with me. I jumped at the bars, reaching out through them, trying to reach him. "Tell me how you did that!" I screamed. He waved his hand, gesturing me to back away. I was knocked back again, as though I had just been blasted in the face. Fury and hatred and desperation overtook me. I flung myself at the bars, over and over again, and each time, I was blasted back with powerful force. He began to taunt me. "Remember how you thought it would never end?" I lunged again. Blasted back. "Remember the night your daughter was conceived?" My bones were cold. My skin was numb. My whole body ached. I lunged again. "Hell of a thing, the Italian trapeze. Remember how you thought your wife looked like Jodie Foster?" Blasted back. My vision began to blur. I was being beaten senseless. I lunged harder. "You never told her that. Guess she'll never know. Remember the time B.B. came over for dinner, and she whispered to you how he made her feel uncomfortable?" I was sent flying back, hitting the wall with my head. I flopped down on the floor. A warm trail wormed its way across my forehead and into my eye. My vision turned red. "Should have listened to her, Maxie." I was back on my feet in a flash. I rubbed the blood out of my eye. "Remember how you met her? Strangers on a Subway train, reading the newspapers. You both laughed, at the same time, reading Captain Baseball Bat Boy." I ran and dived. I was about to hit those bars like a bullet. He waved his hand upwards. My back hit the ceiling, knocking the breath out of me.

Hanging there, lying on my back, staring down from the ceiling, I watched beads of blood drip frantically down, shrinking into small beads before they splashed into the red puddles on the floor. My entire body ached in anguish. My head felt like a repeat of Frank Niagara. The world was spinning out of control, reality seemed to crumble along the edges, giving small, faint glimpses of something more sinister. It felt like a dream, but it was too frightening to not be real. Through the blurry red, I saw Woden, sitting there on the other side of the bars, a smug, insolent smirk stretching across his cheek. He plopped his hand down in his lap. I fell from the ceiling and hit the floor, my own blood splashing up into my face. Terrified, defeated, and desperate, a knot balled up in my shocked stomach. My eyes were blinded with blood. The knot seemed to explode, the force of it propelling itself up into my lungs, setting every part of my innards on fire. I screamed. Tears washed the blood from my eyes. Pathetically, I rolled over on my back. Alfred Woden was kneeling over me, his sharp smirk close to my face. I wanted to know what the hell was going on. It didn't make any sense, this voodoo crap, and now moving through solid bars. I was frightened. I wished Michelle was there, to give me the strength I needed. For once, I had run out of fighting spirit. I was crushed.

Woden fished in his shirt pocket for a handkerchief and wiped my face with it. "Max," he said, "I know you want her back. I have a way to make it happen. First, we have to get a few things straight. You're not at the end of your road. Not yet, at least. I can't promise you will survive to see your wife and daughter again. Secondly, the name you're going to have to get to know me by another name. Calypso."


	10. Mary5

Mary 5

The side of the road is never an inviting place, but it was the only place where there was no one. I didn't want anyone to see my Mascara running down my face. I didn't want anyone to see my shoulders heaving with every sob.

I was a mess…

And I couldn't let anyone see that.

I caught my reflection in the rear view mirror and couldn't help but gasp. That wasn't _me_.

The makeup that I had so carefully applied…just for Max…It was smeared and messy and it, for some reason, terrified me to see myself in such a state of disarray.

I reached into the backseat and pulled my large makeup bag to the front. My shaking hands searched frantically for a wipe to clean myself up with when I heard a car pull up behind me.

Keeping my head down, my hair in my face, I stuck my arm out the window and motioned for them to keep going. I didn't need any help…

Well none that _they_ could give me anyway.

When I didn't hear the car drive away I began to get worried someone would walk to up the window and began searching more frantically for some bottle of beauty that I could hide myself in. I finally grabbed up a mirror and a wipe and began cleaning the excess Mascara and eyeliner from underneath my eyes.

I was engrossed in my reflection as I freed myself from the ugliness that was clouding me. I guess I was so absorbed in my transformation and _that's_ why I didn't see him walk up to the car.

"Mary." He said, with no emotion in his voice. I looked up startled, the wipe still touching my face.

"Have you been crying??" He asked, taking the wipe from my hand.

"Calypso…" I choked, trying to swallow the tears that were welling up once again, "Just leave it alone. I'm going home. Just leave _me_ alone."

"What do you mean, Mary??"

"I mean I'm a _fool,_ Calypso. I trusted you and I trusted Max and both of you hurt me…I'm going back home and back on my medication."

"No, no, no…" He said, wiping my face, his own face overcome with sympathy…

Probably lust too.

"Mary…" He started, "What do you want most in the world??"

"Love." I replied without even thinking.

"And _who_ do you want most in the world??" He questioned with a sly grin, finished with cleaning my eyes and now gazing into them.

"Max Payne…" I said and I felt my nose start to burn slightly with the sobs I was holding back.

"I can make it happen." He said, caressing my face softly with his fingers.

"You've said that before."

"I mean it now. Why do you think I went to the jail??"

"You talked to him??"

He grinned even wider.

"Of course, I did."

"What did he say??"

"Well, Mary, I can't get into that right now. I just need to know how much you love him."

"You have no idea." I said, finding it harder and harder to fight back the tears.

"Would you do anything for him??"

"Anything."

"Would you do anything to be with him…for good??"

"Absolutely."

He smiled and a short giggle escaped him, surprising me.

"Go on home, Mary. I'll see you there in a bit. I've got a quick meeting to attend to."

Calypso got back in his car, made a U-Turn and went right back the way he came.

I started my car and went home, my mind clouded with Max Payne's perfection the entire way.


End file.
